


Where the Treetops Glisten

by Overlimits



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Christmas, Fluff and Smut, M/M, there's some mild cindy/iris in here too but i'm not sure it's enough to warrant a ship tag... yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 14:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlimits/pseuds/Overlimits
Summary: It's been years since Prompto's had a proper Christmas. This is deemed entirely unacceptable. Enter a would-be project manager, a distracting boyfriend, and a gal who makes a mean mulled wine.Modern AU, established Promptis. Excessive use of classic Christmas tunes without ever actually name-dropping the song.





	Where the Treetops Glisten

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas vignette within a larger AU, _Closer Than Stars_. Prompto was rescued from a shady club and a shadier-yet life in San Francisco by Iris, and brought up to live with her in Portland, Oregon. Where his childhood friend, Noctis, also happens to now live.

 

“Oh, whoa. I haven’t heard this in years.”

 

Prompto flicks the knob of the radio’s volume up a bit to the smooth tones of Bing Crosby singing about white Christmases, humming along uncertainly, missing a note every so often.

 

And then he slowly becomes aware of eyes locked on him, as though lasers are slowly boring their ways through his body. Flushing up a bit with instinctive tension, he looks up, seeing Noctis and Iris staring at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“What do you _mean_ you haven’t heard this in years?” Iris asks in baldfaced confusion— and Noctis suddenly blinks a couple of times, taking in Prompto’s nervous expression and making the connections, though the sharp look he quickly fires Iris isn’t fast enough to stop her from pushing on, “It plays on like, every single radio station and commercial and everything four hundred times a day once Thanksgiving’s over.”

 

“I don’t know, I just—“ Prompto starts, awkwardly looking away and scratching uncomfortably at the back of his head a little.

 

“It’s a good song though, huh?” Noctis says in the pause, scooting a little closer to Prompto across the makeshift nest of pillows and blankets on the floor that makes up the ‘living room’ of the garage, “You’ll get totally sick of it in a couple of weeks, don’t worry.”

 

Prompto gives Noctis a grateful little smile, and Iris finally _gets it_ — somehow, despite everything, it’s easy for her to forget the situation that Prompto had come from, because they’re having so much fun _now._ Of course he wouldn’t have been listening to Christmas carols. He’d dropped into her car with everything he’d owned, and that had been a small bag with a couple of changes of clothes and a shitty old flip phone. She flushes up a little bit herself in self-admonishment, and there’s the temptation to apologize, but. Maybe the moment’s passed. Noctis is singing along with Bing Crosby, doing his best impression and failing terribly, making Prompto giggle— and Prompto’s posture is relaxed again, thankfully. (At some point, she thinks, she really will have to give Noctis his due credit.)

 

Instead— Iris looks around the garage, a little smile blooming on her lips, and a somewhat dangerous light glinting in her eyes.

 

“Oh god,” Noctis says, and her grin widens.

 

“Why do I get the feeling that something completely over-the-top is about to happen?” Prompto adds, trying to sound already-exhausted— but there’s a pleasant warmth in his voice that he can’t quite erase.

 

“She’s in project mode. _Run._ ”

 

The two boys scatter, scrambling to their feet and bolting for the nearest exit, while Iris hops up and calls out after them to wait, she needs someone to go shopping with her—

 

———

 

Cindy often muses that she’d love to keep her phone on ‘do not disturb.’ It would be nice to go one day without a phone call, either about work or— potentially even more often— a client or old friend or old lover calling up to ‘get back in touch, been thinkin’ about you lately, be nice to go get a drink.”

 

When Iris calls, Cindy has no earthly way of telling if it’s the former or the latter.

 

Still, while it’s tempting to ignore the call, let it go to voicemail… well, she can’t deny that she’s got a bit of a soft spot for the girl, and what the hell, might as well get into the giving spirit considering the time of year. Punching ‘accept’ (maybe a touch harder than is necessary), she lifts the phone up to her ear and puts on her best cheerful tone.

 

“Well hi there, Iris, what can I do ya for?”

 

“Hi, Cindy,” Iris starts, and she sounds slightly nervous, which is usually a bad sign, “How’s it going? Work good?”

 

Stifling the urge to raise a hand to her forehead, Cindy pushes on, cheerful as anything— though perhaps just a notch or two less so. “Don’t take this the wrong way, hon, but how ‘bout we just get down to brass tacks, huh? What’s up? Somethin’ break in the garage again?”

 

“Oh! No, everything’s fine there— actually, it’s about to be better, which is kind of— okay. So I kind of… need a favor.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“See, I went to the craft store and bought up a bunch of Christmas stuff so we can really go all-out decorating the place, but I kind of. I mean. I don’t think it’s too much? The garage is kind of big, right? So it’ll all fit in _there_ , it just.” There’s a slight pause, a little sigh, and then Iris’ voice comes back more ashamed than is probably necessary. “It doesn’t fit in my _car._ ”

 

If there’s one thing that Cindy really likes about Iris (and if she’s completely honest with herself, there’s quite a few things), it’s that she’s always able to catch her off-guard, and always in the most pleasant of ways. She laughs, full and charmed, imagining Iris standing outside a store with too many boxes and bags to carry, staring at her car about a hundred sizes too small to fit ‘em all. It’s too cute. “So you want me to swing by with the truck, right?”

 

“I-if you wouldn’t mind,” Iris says a bit sheepishly, though it’s obvious in her tone that she’s smiling.

 

“Gimme ten and I’ll be right on over, hon.”

 

———

 

When they come back to the garage a few hours later (it would have been earlier, but Noct had gotten distracted a few times, leading them on odd, but fun, tangents), Prompto almost walks directly into the door, because it barely opens when he pushes in. He blinks a couple of times, pushing on the door a little bit and hearing an odd rustling sound that accompanies the resistance, and… something’s telling him that this might be one of those instances where he should just convince Noctis that they should _definitely_ just spend the night at Ignis’. Whatever is going on here? Can’t be anything but trouble.

 

“Y’all have the worst timin’, you know that?” comes Cindy’s sunny voice through the dark crack in the door (and Prompto perks up slightly, earning a snort from Noctis and a thump on his shoulder).

 

“Hang on, hang on!” Iris’ voice comes through next, followed by more rustling punctuated by grunts of exertion. Prompto and Noctis exchange a look, before bursting into laughter.

 

“We can go if this is bad time,” Noctis offers, and Prompto stifles a deeper giggle at the answering ‘shut up, Noct!’ that pours out along with a particularly forceful-sounding rustle and scrape across concrete. Finally the door loosens, swinging open, and—

 

The first thing that Prompto notices is that it’s darker than usual inside. Like… really dark. Which, frankly, isn’t something he normally likes. But Noctis shrugs, casually takes Prompto’s hand and laces their fingers as he starts forward, and he lets the contact and the assured posture ease whatever tension had welled up in his stomach, letting the little ember of curiosity flare up in its wake.

 

Once they’re inside, one of the girls shuts the door behind them (he can’t tell who in this darkness, especially considering that the door closing shuts out the dim light that had been coming in from the street so it’s _seriously_ dark now— but Noctis squeezes his hand a little, silently reassuring), and the other throws the main electrical switch for the garage.

 

He isn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting. It certainly isn’t the sight that greets them. Lush garlands are draped around the walls of the garage, wrapped in cranberry strings. Wreaths hang in the high windows, with cheerful colored balls adorning them. Thousands of tiny colored lights are strung up along the ceiling, bathing the entire place in a warm amber glow. Tinsel glitters in strategic locations; fiber fluffed up to look like snow blankets most of the counter spaces and odd jutting shelves. And there in the corner— what must have been blocking the door a moment earlier— is a tree almost too big to fit inside even with the generous height of the garage, dotted with little white lights. Iris and Cindy are standing on either side of it, grinning proudly, heads topped with garish Santa hats and arms filled with boxes of ornaments. The radio plays softly in the background, another smooth-toned crooner singing about merry little Christmases.

 

Prompto’s honestly speechless.

 

Potentially because no words could possibly make it past the lump in his throat.

 

Noctis gives his hand another squeeze, grinning knowingly, before letting it drop from his fingers in order pluck a third Santa hat from off the top of one of the ornament boxes, plopping it down off-kilter on Prompto’s head. “Know it’s not the same as the one when we were kids, but. It’ll do, right?”

 

A burst of a chuckle erupts from Prompto’s lips, something almost hectic-sounding, as though there had been too much trapped in his chest that’d had to escape. “Is this why you kept us wandering off earlier?” he asks, his face feeling hot and a slightly too wide smile pulling at his mouth. “I should have known you were planning something.”

 

“I’m actually kind of surprised you didn’t catch on,” Noctis says, sounding almost ridiculously pleased with himself, enough to earn another little snort of laughter and a bump to his shoulder.

 

“Well, come on, then, these ornaments ain’t gonna hang themselves,” Cindy calls, walking forward to heft the box into a barely-prepared Prompto’s arms with a little grin of her own, “Y’all can get started on that, and I’ll make some refreshments. Be a proper li’l Christmas party.” (Something about the way she spins the word ‘refreshments’, of course, gives a good indication of exactly what kind of ‘party’ she means, but somehow, no one complains.)

 

Iris shifts her box to one arm in order to pluck the tree-topper off the top of it, tossing it into the one that Prompto’s carrying. “You can put up the star, Prompto,” she sing-songs, “Noct, you’re on garlands.”

 

Noctis groans, hanging his head a bit. “Fiiiiine.”

 

Prompto blinks back the burn behind his eyes, trying to tamp down the joyful swelling of his heart, at least enough to actually _do_ something. He’d always heard, in snippets of conversations from people living lives that had been entirely outside of his grasp, that ‘your real family is the one you choose.’ He’d always rolled his eyes at the sentiment. It had felt dishonest, performative. Or, at the least, unattainable. But this… here and now…

 

Well, maybe there’s something to it.

 

———

 

It turns out there isn’t nearly enough room on the tree for all the ornaments that Iris had bought. They’d realized the helplessness of the situation about halfway through the first box, leaving them staring at the atrocity that’s more colorful bauble than tree. Still, there’s an… odd charm to it, if one tilts their head the right way.

 

Especially considering the soft, warm haze left behind by Cindy’s (exceptional, thank you very much) mulled wine, which had been doled out partway into the proceedings. Prompto’d never really been much for drinking, despite the ample availability to do so— hard liquor, at the least, sits hard on his stomach and makes his head spin, unpleasant against the bright lights and pounding music, but… that’s not here and now. Here and now, he’s sitting with his legs tucked up beside him in the pile of pillows and blankets that make up the ‘living room’ area of the garage, leaning against Noctis beside him. (The girls had wandered off to their own corner, insistingly.) He’s cradling a warm mug of fragrant, sweetened wine that stays on his tongue like a syrup, leaving a warm burn down his throat and in his belly, gliding pleasantly up into his head. He’s softly humming along to the radio, at least the parts of the songs he knows. Noctis picks up the slack when he drifts off. There’s something amazing about it.

 

“Hey… Noct?” Prompto says softly, almost like he’s afraid of breaking some sort of spell. He’s not even completely sure of where he’s going with this.

 

“Mm?”

 

“I haven’t gotten you anything. For Christmas, I mean. I. I mean, I still can, I’ve got time, just.” He breathes out a little laugh, turning his head a bit into Noctis’ shoulder. “I guess I kind of forgot you’re supposed to do that.”

 

To Prompto’s surprise, Noctis laughs, quiet but full. “You dork, you’re worried about that? Don’t be.”

 

“Not ‘worried’, exactly,” he says with a slow lilt, like he’s trying to find the right words, “More like… I don’t know. It’s weird, right? I haven’t really thought about that sort of stuff.” He chuckles a little bit, burrowing in a little closer. “I mean, I keep saying in my head, ‘what do I even get you?’ But it’s… kind of nice, even just thinking that. If that… makes sense.”

 

“Prompto…” Noctis’ voice is soft, a tone he tends to take on when he’s particularly endeared (and the little extra flush of heat in Prompto’s face can’t entirely be blamed on the wine, though he might try)— and he breathes out the softest, briefest sort of laugh, curling his arm a little closer around Prompto’s waist. “…I think I get it.” He leans down just a fraction, enough to nudge a kiss into Prompto’s hair. “Already got me plenty, though, you know.”

 

Prompto lets out a little breath from his nose, like there’s just a bit too much air in his lungs. It’s probably stupid, how simple little things like that from Noct’s mouth feel like treasures, carving out little homes in his heart. He’s not sure if it’s wonderful or terrible how effortlessly romantic Noctis can be when he’s not even trying to be, but… well. It certainly suits the mood, at the moment.

 

“You’re just trying to get out of getting me something,” he teases, but his own voice is softer as well, unable to hide the affection.

 

Noctis chuckles, taking a sip from his own cup of wine before giving an indicating tilt of his head back towards the tree behind them. “Nope, already taken care of.”

 

“Wh—“ Prompto’s head pops off Noctis’ shoulder, and he spins around so quickly his wine almost spills, eyes scanning over the tree as thoroughly as possible through the soft haze covering his senses— and there, resting on a branch in between a few red-and-green ornaments, is a small box, about the size of a softball, cheerfully wrapped in silver paper and tied with black and white ribbon. “Where did that— is that yours?”

 

“No, it’s yours.” The grin is practically _audible_ in Noctis’ voice.

 

“What is it? When did you even— wait, that day you went in _early_ to work, I thought that was weird! Is that when you—“

 

Prompto hardly realizes he’s babbling, face practically glowing; Noctis absolutely cannot help the smile on his face deepening in sheer affection. If he could only protect this feeling for Prompto, keep it safe for him, like all the bad things could be swept away as easily as that uncomplicated joy sweeps over that freckled face— he could devote his life to that. “Guess you’re just gonna have to wait until Christmas,” he teases, over-dramatically shrugging.

 

“Noooooct! Come on, give me a hint!” Prompto’s cheek is playfully puffed out, all faux-annoyance, but his eyes give away the happiness behind it.

 

“Can’t do it,” he intones, “Not in the spirit of the thing.”

 

“I’m gonna go shake it.”

 

“Hey, that’s cheating—“

 

“I’m gonna go shake it!”

 

Prompto’s up and on his feet in a surprisingly fluid motion (or maybe it just feels fluid through the slight sleepiness of the wine), darting over and plucking the box from the tree. Noctis grins, pushing himself up too to wander over, a bit more languidly. He’s not too worried— it’s a well-packed thing, so Prompto’s not going to get a lot out of shaking it _anyway_. Still, it’s almost unbearably cute, seeing him trying to rattle the box close to his ear, turning it over and over in his hands like he’s trying to get a feel for the weight of it. He comes up behind him, sliding his hands around Prompto’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Any luck?” Noctis asks in a continued teasing tone, lightly kissing at the exposed skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder from the scooped neck of his shirt.

 

“None, ugh,” Prompto pouts, replacing the box from where he’d pulled it down, before the expression loses steam and he crosses his arms across his own waist to rest over Noctis’ arms, leaning back into him a bit with a soft smile. “…Now I guess I’m obligated to figure out what to get you too, huh?”

 

Noctis puffs out a little laugh, nudging another kiss a little higher on the column of Prompto’s neck, relishing the tiny shiver that passes through the boy in his arms in response. “Already told you. You’re good enough for me.”

 

Prompto pauses, his smile widening even as his words get lost and his throat burns a little. It’s moments like these where he’s not entirely sure what _happened_ to get him where he is, to a point where he _deserves_ this— Noctis’ love, his _heart._ Still… not the time to question it, he supposes. Not when he’s this warm, and the light is so soft, and his chest feels full to bursting, and Noctis’ arms are so solid and _real_ around his waist. He leans back against the other boy a bit, huffing the tiniest sort of laugh. “No fair, you can’t just hog all the romance like that. Makes me look cheap.”

 

“Nah. You’re just fun to spoil.” (Prompto loves when Noctis sounds like this, his voice so sonorous and warm, amused but gentle, and he swears he can feel it under his skin. There’s half-formed thoughts of music and resonance frequencies and being so perfectly matched, but they never come together in anything coherent.) “For all you know, I’m just getting started. A time of giving and all.”

 

“Nice, I’m dating an advent calendar.”

 

Noctis snickers again, tightening his arms around the other boy’s waist and pressing into his neck, and Prompto can’t help the little swell of victorious happiness in his chest. It always feels like a blessing, Noctis’ laughter, and it always feels like he’s done something wonderful when he’s the one who caused it.

 

Prompto turns around in his arms (despite the minor grumble of protest as he’s made to compensate), casually slinging his own up around Noctis’ shoulders once they’re face to face, the smile on his lips seeming to tip between slightly impish and genuine. As he gathers his thoughts back together again, it settles on the latter. “…Thank you for this. All of this.”

 

“Wish I could claim credit,” he faux-sighs, his hands flattening against Prompto’s back— and it’s not entirely clear who starts it, but they get pulled into a faint sway to the languid rhythm of the radio, this time a familiar tune about chestnuts, open fires, and carolers. “Was Iris’ idea.”

 

“I know,” Prompto answers with a shake of his head, slowly shuffling along with the pseudo-dance, and drawing closer to rest his chin lightly on Noctis’ shoulder, “I don’t mean— I mean, this too, this is… god, perfect, but…” He lets out a little noise, a little hum that’s half contented and half touched, and his arms tighten in a closer embrace. “I mean… this. All of _this._ ” There’s a soft squeeze, to emphasize the point. “…Thank you, Noct.”

 

It’s quiet as they keep dreamily swaying together, but Noctis is barely breathing. Finally, he takes a slow, slightly shuddering sigh, slipping one hand up a little further on Prompto’s back, tucking his head down a little bit on the other boy’s shoulder as well. “Geez, Prompto… you don’t have to…” he murmurs, letting it trail off for a moment— it feels almost ridiculous to be _thanked_ , when he’s the one that should be doing the thanking. Prompto had carved out a spot in Noctis’ heart when they’d still been _children_ , and here he is now, having neatly folded himself back into it like he’d never left, like they’d never been separated. And Prompto _cherishes_ it. Treats his heart like it’s something precious, worth living inside. Noctis will never be able to thank him enough for that. “… I love you,” is what he settles on, and no matter how many times he says it, it never seems to truly encompass the depth of the feeling behind it. But… for now, it’ll do.

 

Prompto hugs a little closer again, making a soft sound as he presses his face into the side of Noctis’ neck, lips idly resting over his pulse point. (It’s half to convince himself that this is real, he’s not dreaming. He has to check that fairly often these days.) Noctis isn’t one to say those words flippantly. Even without seeing it, Prompto knows the look that must be on Noct’s face: a little too serious, but sweet all the same, cheeks just a little red and eyes seeking to make sure he _understands_ , and… he does. He does. He might not understand _why_ — why Noctis would love _him_ so deeply— but he does, and Prompto knows it. (And he tries, genuinely, every day, to be worthy of that love.) “… Love you too,” he whispers back, “Love you. Love you.”

 

The song on the radio glides from one to the next, into something a little peppier and not quite as suited to the slow sway, but neither of them shifts apart from the other; rather, they move _against_ each other, shifting just enough to rub their cheeks together, pulling back to slide their mouths together instead in a slow, affectionately soft kiss. “Merry Christmas, Prompto,” Noctis murmurs against his lips, and Prompto’s own curl up a bit, half amusement and half genuine happiness.

 

“Not Christmas just yet. Got a few more days on that.”

 

“Guess I’ll just have to keep it up until then.”

 

A few more slow kisses follow, each one just a little bit deeper than the last, until Prompto pulls back with a soft _pop_ and a softly panted breath. His lips, slightly pinkened now, tilt upward again, even as his eyes duck slightly shyly down and to the side. He gives a little tug on the back of Noctis’ neck, leaning backwards in the direction of his makeshift room in the corner of the garage (which, he notes off-handedly, wasn’t left untouched in the explosion of decoration). “Take me to bed already.”

 

Noctis glances briefly around (where _had_ Iris and Cindy gone off to, anyway?), before the _warmth_ of everything catches up to him— his lips still faintly tingling from their kisses, the wine pleasantly buzzing in his stomach and his head, the coy smile on Prompto’s beautifully blushed face. It’s all too much, honestly. He hums softly, stealing one more kiss before going with the pull and clumsily staggering their bodies towards the room, too caught up in each other to pay attention to their footing, both giggling with the fond absurdity of it.

 

—————

 

There’s little that Noctis loves more than the first little gasp that escapes Prompto’s lips as he finally slips inside of him, all the teasing, the flurries of little bites and soft pink hickeys left all over the blonde boy’s neck and chest and inner thighs all leading up to this exact moment of utter fulfillment as his body is _filled_. Noctis _adores_ that moment, for the beauty of Prompto’s bliss, for the sudden _warmth_ wrapping so snugly around his cock, for the pleasure that submerges them both at the same time. He shudders, softly groans, leans down to brush a kiss over Prompto’s panting mouth, bracing himself on his forearm beside the other boy’s head.

 

Prompto hitches his legs up a little higher around Noctis’ hips, crossing them at the ankles. He has to take a second to breathe, shakily and belatedly return each of those little kisses; for as often as he’s done this, with any number of faceless ‘customers’ willing to pay for the experience, it’s— it’s so different with Noct. The gentle burn, the slow stretch of his body around Noctis’ cock— the way he _waits_ , letting him really _feel_ the thick, heavy weight of it inside him, filling him up, rubbing into all the secret, sensitive places— Prompto feels alight, pleasure glowing from between his legs along his veins, and he’s almost certain it has to be shining out of him like sunlight. His arms come up around Noctis’ shoulders and he pulls him closer, fingers digging slightly into the soft skin of his back.

 

“Y-you can move,” he whispers, a faintly teasing smile lighting his lips, even as he shivers, lets out the softest little whimpers as his entire body seems to throb along with his heartbeat.

 

A little breath of a chuckle escapes Noctis’ throat, which he muffles into the side of Prompto’s neck. “Don’t wanna yet.” He kisses over one of the brighter red marks there, sweetly. “Feels too good like this.”

 

It does. It _does_ , Prompto can’t argue that at all, he could stay here for _hours_ , just milking this sensation until he can’t stand it anymore, but… he gives a little laugh of his own, one hand skating up into Noctis’ hair, his legs squeezing softly at Noctis’ waist, hips giving a faint rock towards him. The tiny shift is enough to send a small ripple of sparks down and back up the backs of his thighs, and his voice raises slightly into a more proper moan— which Noctis shifts and hushes with a slow kiss. “Not… feeling like being tortured tonight,” Prompto breathes against his lips, with a soft edge of _need_ , “Please?”

 

Prompto’s tone is teasing, but something in Noctis’ chest gives out a little bit anyway; he can never resist pleas from that voice, no matter how sincere or joking it might be. He strokes gently back through Prompto’s hair, kissing him more fully again and nodding in the same moment, letting their mouths softly cling together as he starts slowly rolling his hips— less thrusting and more grinding, staying as deep as possible. Prompto’s head falls back, lips breaking with a _pop_ from Noctis’ with another sweet little gasp, his eyelids fluttering— his inner walls quiver around him, clinging, like his body is trying to draw him deeper. So warm, so _soft—_ Noctis’ head drops, forehead leaning on Prompto’s shoulder, shivering through a wave of pleasure.

 

“That’s— there— _oh_ —“ Prompto whimpers, words getting lost between little bitten-quiet moans (that Noctis can’t be bothered to hush anymore, or maybe just doesn’t _want_ to). The angle’s so good— every languid roll of their hips has Noctis’ cock nudging up against his prostate, and god he’s seeing _stars_ for how good it is, how pleasure coils dense and tight and radiating hotly inside of him. Already his thighs are trembling a little, squeezing tighter around Noctis’ body.

 

Noctis huffs a heavy breath, biting softly at Prompto’s shoulder as he leans his weight onto one arm, slipping the other down between them. He takes his time, idling a long moment to brush over a soft pink nipple, toying with it in little rubs and pinching between knuckles until it’s pleasantly hard and Prompto’s head is tossed to the side, his back arching into the touch. He always loves the reactions he can draw from Prompto here, he’s always so _sensitive_ , and those higher little cries are like music to Noctis’ ears. The way his silky inner walls hitch and clench tighter around him briefly, making a particularly nice throb of pleasure pulse through his body as though it had passed from Prompto’s into his own. The way his fingers tighten into Noctis’ hair and his back, like they’re scrabbling for any purchase at all, desperate just to hang onto something. Noctis can’t get enough of it.

 

He glides his teasing fingers down lower, skimming along Prompto’s side and over the curve of his hip, intending to gently curl around the erection lying flushed and twitching against belly, leaking just a bit— but Prompto preempts him. With a little shake of his head, he grabs Noctis’ hand with the one that had been clutched into his back a moment earlier, lacing their fingers and clinging hard.

 

“Just this,” Prompto pants, his own hips giving a nice roll to keep the slow rhythm as Noctis pauses with a bit of confusion, “I just… I wanna come like this, just… just from…”

 

An almost embarrassingly deep burn of arousal streaks up Noctis’ spine as the connections are made; he can’t hold back a little groan, head hanging like he’s lost the ability to hold it up anymore, feeling his face surge up with heat. God. This boy. One of these days, Prompto’s gonna kill him outright, he’s sure of it. “Fuck,” he grinds out, digging his fingers into Prompto’s hand and gently pressing it down to the mattress beside his head, lifting his chin just enough to look down at the boy underneath him. “Are you— _can_ you?”

 

Another little rock of Prompto’s hips makes another quiver run through his thighs, makes him bite the corner of his lip and let out a little whimper, his already-flushed face deepening in color enough to obscure the spray of freckles across it. He nods a couple of times, eyes half-lidding open again to gaze up at Noctis, dark and adoring and utterly lustful all at once. Noctis can’t stand it.

 

“Fuck,” he repeats, like it’s the only word left in his lexicon; he leans down, captures Prompto’s lips with his own in a brief, deep kiss, shifting his body up to get the position back.

 

Prompto hitches his legs up a little better once more, shuddering as Noctis bottoms out again, and god, _god_ he feels so _full_ and it’s so good, so good— Noctis takes up the rhythm again, slowly grinding down into him in slow circles, shifting everything _just right._ The blunt head of Noctis’ cock rubs in delirious little pushes right up against that particularly sensitive spot inside him, the base rubbing gently along his stretched-tight entrance, sending sparks snapping up along his veins. Over and over, wave after wave of warmth (of electricity, of _ecstasy)_ cascading through his body, folding over themselves. His senses are _saturated_ , pleasure moving in slow chains from nerve to nerve, and he would drag this out _forever_ if he could.

 

But that coil of heat between his legs is twisting tighter and tighter, condensing down, glowing bright, blinding. Prompto lets out a desperate little gasp, head tossing back— and Noctis moans shakily, leaning down to press their mouths together, sifting his free hand into Prompto’s hair while the other clutches their fingers tightly together. Every muscle in Prompto’s body seems to be tightening up all at once, drawn into the gravity of his pleasure; his thighs quiver at Noctis’ sides, his toes curl in, heels digging into Noctis’ back. His fingers cling, his back arches, his breath staggers, as every little roll into his body drags him closer and closer to the edge. Vaguely, he’s aware that he’s whispering Noctis’ name, and Noctis is whispering back mindless, rambling praise, and it’s— too much.

 

He surges up against Noctis with a single, high cry, as that dense and glowing coil inside him finally _snaps_. It’s like a sun going nova, dragging everything inside of itself before _exploding—_ and every inch of him is caught up in the shockwave, euphoria rushing through his body. His cock jerks and spills across his belly, entirely untouched, and it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s _so good_ —

 

Noctis can’t help but _stare_ — any remaining willpower is channeled into keeping the rhythm as even as he can, gently fucking Prompto through it, but— shit. _Shit_ , how is he so beautiful when he falls apart like this, and… he’d gotten there just from feeling Noctis moving inside of him and _fuck_ it isn’t fair how hot that is, how amazing he feels as his body clenches, throbs, flutters around his cock, and— _oh._ A particularly nice little squeeze, punctuated with a sweet whimper from underneath him makes his self-control finally give out. His head hangs again, nearly resting on Prompto’s shoulder, and rocks his hips more deeply— his cock draws out slightly, before he thrusts back in, a greedy little flame flaring in his stomach. Prompto’s so _warm_ , he feels so _good_ wrapped around him, and Noctis wants— everything—

 

He doesn’t last much longer, not with Prompto shuddering through the last of his climax, clinging to him, whispering to his ear, “Come inside me…“

 

How can he do anything else? Letting out a strangled moan, Noctis buries himself in _deep_ , white-hot sparks dragging slowly up the backs of his thighs, balls drawing up tight, and he gives himself over to it as he rushes the up to the edge— and over it. It isn’t like falling. It’s like rolling, sliding— starting slow and picking up speed. The first pulse of his orgasm rushes through him like fire and quakes his body; he bites down on Prompto’s shoulder again to muffle himself, and pushes harder, thrusts deeper, milking every last moment of this that he _can_ with the warmth of Prompto’s body. Each throb burns hotter, reaching further, until even his fingertips are tingling, and god, _god—_ it drags on and on, emptying him utterly.

 

It seems like a long time before color starts to seep back into the world. Noctis’ breath is rough in his throat, and he slowly starts becoming aware that his full weight is crushing down over Prompto, who’s panting just as hard. Swallowing, he shifts, levering up a little bit on one arm, making an apologetic noise. A little chuckle underneath him says that Prompto hadn’t exactly _minded_ , but— he’d have likely fallen asleep right there otherwise. He might still. So— with a slight shift, and a little hiss of overstimulated _sensation_ , Noctis gently eases his softening cock out of Prompto’s body, and collapses to his side.

 

Prompto laughs a little again (oddly charmed by the total exhaustion), which tapers off into a little hum as he rolls over to face him. Noctis’ arms immediately reach out, hands pulling him closer, and Prompto moves easily into the embrace, nuzzling into the other boy’s collarbone and letting himself be _enveloped_. (He could stay here forever, without a question. There’s nowhere he feels safer, more loved. Wherever this— wherever _Noctis_ is, that’s home.)

 

“You’re… amazing,” Noctis whispers into Prompto’s slightly sweat-damp hair, and something in Prompto’s chest winds up tight, pushing a little lump up into his throat. There’s such honest adoration in that whisper, such _awe_ , and— maybe. Maybe. Prompto feels like he might be able to live up to it after all.

 

“… Merry Christmas, Noct,” he whispers back, and it’s not exactly what he’d meant to say, but— Noctis holds him closer, having seemed to read any deeper meanings out of it that he’d intended. Prompto burrows in, curling his arms up under Noctis’, hands splaying out over his shoulderblades.

 

Noctis shakes slightly with a silent chuckle a moment later, pressing a kiss against Prompto’s forehead. “Thought we weren’t saying that yet? Got a few more days and all?”

 

Prompto grins a little. “I guess you swayed me over to your logic.” One of Noctis’ hands slides down the length of his spine, and the feeling is so marvelously sedating, he can’t help but let his eyes close, simply basking in the utter warmth of everything. (Noct is rubbing off on him, he thinks with a deeper inward grin; he was never the napping type, but… he can see the appeal, these days.) For a long few minutes, they’re quiet, only shifting to drag a blanket up around them. Even their breathing seems to fall into alignment. It’s strangely hypnotic. But— before he can drift off, Prompto nudges slightly against Noctis’ collarbone, murmuring, “… Noct?”

 

“Mm?” (It’s clear that Noctis is barely awake, but Prompto pushes on regardless.)

 

“… Let’s do this again next year, okay?”

 

“… Mm.”

 

It’s barely an answer, but Noctis gives him a little squeeze, and that says more than enough. With something giddy and warm flitting about in his chest— excitement for the future, who knew— Prompto finally lets himself relax fully, letting the sheer contentedness of the moment gentle him along to sleep.


End file.
